Snowblind
by xdcfvghnjmkl
Summary: Reboot: Jim and McCoy are stranded together, and the only hope of contacting the ship or being found means they're going to have to survive the journey to higher ground. Previously known as "Ultimate Sacrifice"
1. Chapter 1

This is my second Star Trek fic, but it's reboot style, using the reboot characters. So yeah. Critique is greatly appreciated. Also, if I've said something that doesn't make any sense, please let me know. I know it's short, but there's another chapter coming up. I'm mostly concerned about the canon-inity of the characters. I do not have a beta (quite obviously *blush*), so if you would be interested, please let me know.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_'If God sends us on strong__ paths, we are provided strong__ shoes.' -Corrie Tenboom_

* * *

It was cold. The kind of cold that ate into your bones and made you ache all over. Twice he'd been marooned on some snowy death trap of a planet**—**why was he surprised? Things like this happened to him all the time.

'I hate you,' McCoy, who sat a few feet away with his knees tucked to his chest, warmly informed him.

Jim let out a long breath and rolled his eyes. 'I get it,' he said, 'you're mad.'

'Mad?' McCoy repeated, huffing. 'I'm _livid_, damn it!'

'Well fine, then, be livid, but don't be livid at me.'

'Why_ the hell _not?'

'Because for once, this actually_ isn't_ my fault.'

'As far as I'm concerned, everything is your fault.'

Jim snorted in disbelief. 'You think I _like_ the things that happen to me? You think I like being stranded on a snowy, frigid planet, a _second_ time?'

At least, from what he could tell so far, there weren't any dangerous, giant creatures waiting for them in the snowdrifts. Not like on that planet Spock had jettisoned him to. Then again, there was also no Spock Prime or Scotty on this planet. Jim swore inwardly.

'You're a magnet for trouble,' McCoy mumbled softly. He got up and dusted himself off; making sure his coat was zipped tight. 'All right, let's get this death march over with.'

The trek uphill was mostly quiet; McCoys complaining, and the soft chirp of his comm. Badge every once in a while kept him company. Otherwise, the only other sounds were of their boots crunching through the snow and the wind whistling past their ears.

'Any luck?' McCoy asked hopefully from behind.

'No,' Jim answered, stumbling. 'We need to get to higher ground. If we can get high enough, we should be able to get a signal out.'

'How the hell did you survive the first time around?' He meted out a quick, hoarse breath; and maybe he was chuckling, Jim wasn't sure.

'Truthfully?' He said aloud, his eyebrows high in belief, 'I have no idea. Just lucky, I guess.'

'"Just lucky".' McCoy shook his head.

'Let's keep moving.'

* * *

He knew there was only a certain amount of time they could spend out in the elements before they were in serious danger, but he didn't see any alternative but to keep going. There were no trees, no rocks, no hangover cliffs; he couldn't even spot any caves in the distance. Worry began to wriggle its slimy self into the back of his head. Looking back, he watched McCoy struggling to pry his feet from a pile of deep snow; Jim decided that he was right. He put his friend through a lot, all his hijinx at the academy, his crazy adventures. For every year he aged, McCoy used to say, he would age two. Jim grinned.

'How're you doing?' He called back.

'I'm freezing to death,' McCoy responded hotly. 'What about you?'

'Same.' Though neither one had said anything, Jims sitting down signified a break.

'You look flushed,' McCoy scowled, moving over to him. 'You hot?'

'Not really.'

'How about sweaty? You sweaty?'

Jim groaned and batted him away with his arm. 'Bones, get out of my face!'

'This is serious, Jim,' he barked. 'We're both sitting ducks out here, just waiting for hypothermia to creep up on us. You start to sweat, you can't cool down; your body's going to respond by producing more sweat. Keep sweating, you're gunna get drenched. That sweat's gunna freeze the second you stop. Now I'll ask you again, are you sweaty?'

'A little,' Jim admitted, sounding like a child who had just been scolded.

'Take your undershirt off.'

'What?' He yelped. 'Are you crazy? I'll freeze!'

'Not any faster than you'll freeze if you don't get rid of that sweaty shirt, you won't,' he mentioned grimly.

Jim begrudgingly complied, pulling his arms into his coat. It took a while, but he managed to shed his undershirt and toss it into the snow, grumbling.

A few minutes and two medical lectures later, they were moving again. Unlike the planet Jim had been on the first time, visibility here was easy; not that there was much to see. In most areas the snow was sturdy enough for them to walk on top of without worry, in other places they sunk to their knees. At McCoy's request they stopped every few feet and took a break, while he would assess their conditions and curse a blue streak.

'You think the_ Enterprise_ is looking for us?' He asked, a beat of silence passing between them.

Jim whirled around, cheeks glowing bright red. His eyes were wild with exhaustion. 'Of course they're looking for us.' He paused, his brows knitting together. 'Why wouldn't they be looking for us?'

McCoy's jaw jutted out in an aggressive angle. 'Nothing, never mind. Let's keep moving.'

'Bones, you all right?'

'Yeah, fine,' He answered briskly, rubbing at his arms.

'Bullshit,' He huffed. 'You're a terrible liar.'

'No worse than you,' He quipped back.

'Bones,' Jim said more sternly, stopping him with a hand gently placed on his shoulder. They stood there, shivering and looking into each other's faces. McCoy hit him with pale blue eyes and Jims stomach did a back flip. 'We can take another break.'

McCoy sighed and dropped his head. 'I'm fine, Jim. Really.'

Jim hesitated, searching his friend's eyes. When he was satisfied with what he found, he nodded and released him, continuing on. Clearing another few feet, Jim turned. McCoy was being more quiet than usual, not even cursing or mumbling. That troubled him more than their current situation.

'Hey, Bones,' He said, forcing a cheerful voice. 'You ever think we spend too much time together?'

'Oh, shut up.'

'What?' Jim said innocently, relieved to see McCoy raise his eyebrow and roll his eyes. 'You're not enjoying yourself?'

Before McCoy could return fire, Jim suddenly bent over and emptied the contents of his stomach into a mound of snow. He grimaced, feeling a hand on his back, and stared at the string of saliva dangling from his lips. He spit.

'You okay?'

He spit again, and gave a thumbs up. 'Fantastic.'

'Jim,' He said gravely, 'we have to get out of this weather, and soon.'

'Yeah,' Jim said solemnly. 'I know. Where's Spock when you need 'em?'


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, this is a lot shorter than I expected. Sorry! This is my first multi-chapter fic. Once again, con crit is welcome. _

* * *

They left the intensity of the cold miles behind, the sun giving slight warmth. They passed the time by talking, which often lead to acerbic bickering and short-lived arguments. Anything to distract them, Jim reminded himself. Whenever McCoy went quiet, his fears skyrocketed, so it was better to keep him going with his customary grouchiness.

'Bones, pick up the pace.'

'What's the hurry?' He cursed, agitated. 'You got a date waitin' for you?'

He thought he heard McCoy chuckle, but perhaps it was the wind. 'Maybe.'

'Why am I not s-surprised?'

As they began to slow for another resting period, a thought popped into Jim's head that almost made him laugh aloud. He was surprised at how clearly the memory replayed itself in his mind. 'On a scale of one to ten,' he kidded, collapsing into the snow against McCoy's back, 'how badly do you miss space right about now?'

'Ten being the highest or lowest?'

'Highest.'

'About a seven, then. I hate to say it,' he sighed, 'but I'd rather be floatin' around in that tin can up there.' He pulled his neck into his coat and tucked his hands under his armpits. 'The environmental controls,' he said sadly. 'The replicators—'

'—My ch-chair,' Jim added longingly.

McCoy rolled his eyes. 'This whole "Captain" thing's really gone to your head, hasn't it?'

It wasn't as cold as Jim remembered, or maybe it was that he'd become so numb he couldn't differentiate temperature anymore. Either way, it didn't compare to a roaring hot fire. They sat back to back running over their options, leeching warmth off one another. The next thirty minutes or so was spent in silence. Jim wondered what McCoy was thinking—he wondered just how worried he really was.

Finally, McCoy spoke. 'We're gunna have to make a camp eventually, Jim.'

'We need to get to higher ground,' Jim countered.

'There's nothing out here!'

Jim frowned. 'If we can't get a signal out, then were as good as dead.'

'If we keep going, we'll be dead by the morning. Can't get a signal out if you're dead. By the way, how're your arms and legs feeling?'

Jim paused and felt McCoy go stiff behind him.

'Hurtin' p-pretty bad, huh?' He asked.

'Yeah,' He admitted, examining his hands. He'd lost feeling of his fingers miles back; they felt swollen, and making a fist was near impossible. His arms and legs ached with a frigidness that made his bones burn.

'It's just gunna get worse, you know, the longer we're out here. Our body's restricting blood flow to our arms and legs to keep our vital organs going. Shelter's as scarce as a hen's teeth, and I'm willing to bet its gunna get colder the later it gets.'

Jim shook himself mentally and leaned forward, suddenly becoming aware of his body. He felt his heart throb in his chest and felt for what might have been the first time, the dull pounding in his head. Was he slowly dying? 'You're right.'

Twisting around, McCoy stared at him in something close to amazement. They lumbered to their feet and trampled out a patch of snow, large enough for both man to sleep in. They wouldn't be able to stretch out, but it would house them. The smaller, the better, McCoy said.

Jim ran his forearm across his forehead and huffed. 'What now?'

'We wait for this to set, and then we start making a mound. That's got to set for…' He pursed his lips, thinking. 'An hour, I th-think.'

'You sure?'

'Not really, no.'

Some time later Jim was staring at a decent-sized pile of snow, watching McCoy meticulously pat it down, careful not to break it. It was fragile, he said, and for that reason, he was not allowed to touch it. The thought that it would take an hour to set was beginning to bother him, especially since the sun was beginning to take its leave of the sky.

Hollowing out the shelter proved to be more difficult than he had expected. He had opted to take the task upon himself; McCoy, who spent nearly an hour on his knees in the snow, was spent, teeth chattering and violently shivering. The doorway collapsed twice, and both times Jim nearly suffocated under the heavily packed snow.

Eventually, they had a shelter. It wasn't the nicest-looking thing he'd ever laid his eyes on, but it was a shelter, and that was all that mattered. Unfortunately, once inside they were met with an even bigger challenge: how would they sleep? The surface area they had measured out was significantly smaller than first assumed, and it would be problematic for one of them to kick out a side in their sleep and have the snow-shelter collapse on them. They settled soon after, back to back, knees to their chests, while McCoy sealed off the entryway with more snow.

Jim couldn't tell an immediate difference; his limbs still ached to the bones. Surprisingly, sleep tugged heavily at his lids.

'How do we know if this thing's gunna work?'

'If we don't die in our sleep, I'd say that's a good indication we did pretty well.'

Jim made a face in the dark. He moved around, accidentally elbowing McCoy twice and receiving an elbow back. 'What happened t-to your bedside manner?' He snorted.

'That dog won't hunt, Jim. Get some rest.'

The last thing he remembered was asking McCoy if it ever snowed in Georgia.


	3. Chapter 3

_They just keep getting shorter and shorter. I know, I was just thinking the same thing. A super-special thank you to anyone who has reviewed. The more I write the more comfortable I feel, but I'm still on the hunt for a beta reader for reboot and TOS. If anyone is interested, **please** contact me._

* * *

Jim huddled near the entrance, taking turns staring moodily at McCoy's backside, and keeping an eye open for a search party. His stomach spasmed violently, reminding him just how hungry he really was.

The original plan was to get going as soon as they were awake, however, McCoy begged for a delay. Jim couldn't believe what he was hearing. No, no way,_ absolutely _no, it was out of the question, he said; he was a doctor, for crying out loud, didn't he understand that they had to get moving or they'd _die_? He'd said. Just a little longer, McCoy listlessly pleaded. Twice, Jim tried to move him, and twice McCoy threatened to box his ears off and vaccinate him for every disease known to man if he got his hands on a hypospray. Jim let the matter rest. Along with McCoy.

When he felt that he should be rested enough, he went to rouse the good doctor. McCoy was decidedly unresponsive, rattling a throaty, frustrated sigh.

Jim quickly came to realise that the only way they were going to get moving was if he carried McCoy himself. He would have, too if not for the fact that he knew he didn't have the strength. Instead, he kept watch. Something nagged him, telling him it was pointless, but there wasn't much else to do. Some hours later, he was ill, barely making it out of the shelter without demolishing it. It surprised him he could manage to be sick a second time; his stomach had been empty for over twenty-four hours. What more could his body expel? He wondered.

He took a short walk in either direction, peering with squinted, worried eyes at nothing. Soon after, he returned to the shelter. McCoy hadn't moved an inch, nor was he shivering as violently as before. His captaincy urged him to wake McCoy and demand they get moving before the day was wasted away, but something in him calmed him, told him to stay put. He was beginning to regret that decision.

Jim shifted his body and listened to the snow beneath him crunch, and his knees click together. He attempted to warm his hands with his breath, even he could no longer feel them. His stomach did back flips as he sunk into the snow, his mind struggling to stay alert. His fingers were pale and swollen, useless. His arms still ached, which left him with a sliver of hope, but they too were slowly losing feeling. He stared down at them, angry. Exhaustion began to creep up on him. He blinked, groggily, and wet his lips. The world began to tilt, and he regarded it with a slowed, drunken sensation. He no longer could tell snow from sky, and the harder he tried, the blurrier things became. He thought he saw it snowing. Struggling to keep his mind conscious, to roll over and nudge the doctor awake, everything quickly faded to black.

* * *

The next time he opened his eyes, it was dark. It was cold, too, but not like before. This was different; this was terrifying. He sucked in a lungful of air and gasped. For all he knew, tiny ice crystals had formed in his chest cavity while he was asleep, and with every breath, they were slicing his insides to pieces. Sure as hell felt like, it anyway.

He blinked slowly and looked up, seeing white meshing with the blackest black he'd ever seen. It was then that he realised he hadn't closed off the entrance way, and that the cold had crept in that way. He made an attempt to push a pile of snow towards it, but gave up. All he wanted to do now was sleep. The second his lids closed, it was as if his brain had been jumpstarted, his slate wiped clean.

Where was he? He stiffened, alarmed that the answer did not immediately come to him. He was... he was on a planet. Yes a planet. Why? Why was he on a... His head bobbed and his chin touched his chest. A signal, something about a signal. A signal? What kind of signal? What was wrong with him? Another deep intake of breathe, more stabbing pain in his chest. The floodgates opened and panic surged through his body, and for a moment, he felt warmed.

'Bones,' He weakly gasped.

He needed to talk, he needed to hear that gruff voice tell him that freezing to death really wasn't all that bad, and what you really had to watch out for was solar flares and hull breaches. He needed to treat this as if it was a joke, or he knew it would tear him apart. It took everything he had to contain the panic building up in his chest, and he almost smirked at the realisation that he was the spitting image of Bones when they had first met. Paranoid, jittery, anxious. He nearly laughed, and instead, in a moment of clarity, flung his arm back, intending to wake the hibernating doctor was rudely as he himself had been woken. Maybe McCoy would roll over and tell him off, and they would stare at each other and eventually start laughing, and talk about the first thing they planned to do when they were back aboard the_ Enterprise._

When Jim's arm struck nothing, the blood drained from his face. He forced himself onto his side, his arms numb and useless, and felt the breath forced out of him like a fist to the gut. McCoy was gone. His eyes flicked around in dismay. He drew his brow together and cursed. The shelter was small, he was clearly alone. He dragged himself to the entryway and, despite the onslaught of what felt like hail the size of golf balls slamming into the side of his face; he forced the upper half of himself out into the open.

'Bones!' He hollered, amazed at how quickly the wind swallowed his voice. 'Bones! Where are you?'

Where the hell had he gone? Had he been taken? If so, by who? And why had he been left behind?

Panic surged through him. It was one of those strange moments where he had to admit to himself: he didn't know what to do. On one hand, he could leave the safety of the shelter and look for his friend. It seemed logical to him, even when he knew that finding his way back would be impossible in the storm, and that the likelihood of finding him_ at all_ was slim. On the other hand, the idea of retreating to the snow-dwelling made his gut wrench in guilt, but he knew at least in the shelter he stood a chance.

He unzipped his coat and slapped his hand across his badge. 'Bones. Bones come in! McCoy!' He cried, desperate.

The cold bit at his face and hands. Swallowing back angry tears, he watched helplessly as his body shifted into autopilot and crawled back into the shelter. He hit his comm. badge once, twice, thrice more, and choked back what he couldn't convince himself was a sob.

'Damn it, Bones! God_damnit!_'

He was alone.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey guys! Sorry this took so long to update, I've been super busy, and my muse sort of visited other fandoms for a little joyride. ^^ Anyway, hope you guys aren't too angry at me, or haven't lost interest. I proof read this and ran it through spellcheck, but I might've missed some things. If you find them, point them out, yeah? _

_**Notes:** Let it be known I know nothing about Stick-shifts, and if I got everything wrong, well, for the sake of the story, pretend I didn't xD. Also, I named Jim's stepfather. oo" Also Also, it was brought to my attention that they might not have used the in comm badges as a communication device rather than just decoration the movie, and now that I look back, I think the person was right. SI honestly can't remember, so if that person was right, I apologise, and I'll go back and edit in a a handheld comm.  
_

* * *

_'Jim,' The burly man said, flinging a set of keys at him. 'Go out back and start 'er up for me, will ya?'_

_The keys sailed across the room and hit him square in the chest. Jim blinked and briefly glanced up from his textbook. 'Huh?'_

_The man stretched his arms up above his head and extracted himself from the sofa with a sigh. He reached over and ruffled Jim's hair. Jim shied away, batting the hand away. He hiked his thumb over his shoulder. 'Just pop the key into the ignition and turn. Go warm 'er up.'_

_'Really?' Jim exclaimed, his eyes wide as saucers. 'You mean it?_

_'Sure, go for it, kid.' His lips twitched into a lazy smirk. 'Just be careful. Don't scratch the paint.'_

_Jim eagerly nodded and snapped his book shut, pushing it aside. He gathered up the keys and dashed out the back._

_'—Just start it!' He heard his stepfather bellow from behind. '__No** funny-business**__, you hear?'_

_Outside, Jim jogged up to the car, his breath forming a cloud of mist. He stopped and hesitated, wetting his lips._

_Jake wasn't his favourite stepfather, but he wasn't anywhere near as bad as some of the other guys his mother had been with in the past. He had his moments of jerkdom, but he at least tried too occasionally make up for it.__ Maybe this was one of those occasions, Jim thought to himself. Normally, he wasn't even allowed near the car, much less in it._

_'It's not like you'll get in trouble,' Jim reasoned with himself, watching the window curtain behind him gently sway back into place. 'He__ **did **tell you to do it.'_

_He quickly pulled the door open and hopped inside, careful to make sure nothing on his pants or jacket would scratch the leather seats. He could see why his stepfather was so fond of this old hunk of junk. Sure, it was an antique, but it looked real nice. He sat there, foot nudging the brake pedal, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. After a few minutes of pretending to steer himself down a bumpy dirt road, top down, wind in his hair, he slid the key into the ignition and the car roared to life. The car rumbled to life beneath him, until it evened out into a low, steady roll. He let the engine idle, figuring the longer the better._

_As he was about to turn it off, an idea popped into his head. He knew from the start that it was a bad idea, and that if he didn't want to be known as the boy with no limbs, he would do well to hastily get his butt back into the house. Still, the curiosity ate at him. Timidly, he fingered the gas pedal with his foot, and gingerly pressed down on it. The engine's dull rumble grew to a roar. Jim was delighted. He laughed aloud, barking out a cough from the cold here and there, and, ignoring the chilliness of his fingers, did it again. He waited, his head twisted over his shoulder for any sign of his stepfather. Nothing._

_'Okay, that's enough fun.' He slid himself behind the wheel again, something else caught his eye. He palmed the shiny stick shift ball, the metal cold in his hand, and shifted into first gear, second, third, and then back to second. 'Weird.'_

_I'll just move it a little, he told himself. It wouldn't be a big deal, and his Jake probably wouldn't even notice since there wasn't any snow on the ground. Fastening his fingers tightly around the steering wheel, he gently tapped the gas pedal with his foot, and the car rocketed forward. And then stalled. The sudden force caused him to jolt forward and slam his forehead into the wheel. With a pitiful moan, he sank back into the seat and woozily felt for his head._

_He was dead. He had to be dead. Because if he wasn't, he sure was__ going to be dead._

_The next few minutes were mostly a blur; he knew where he was and what he had done, but his head felt like a bowling ball had been dropped onto it. He heard the back door open somewhere in the distance._

_'Jim!' A voice yelled. The car door opened, and cold air rushed in. 'Jim!' The voice said again, urgently. He forced his eyes open but saw nothing but white sky._

*** * ***

'Jim! Hey, wake up, damn it!'

The soundtrack of my life, Jim thought to himself. He couldn't remember drinking, but then again, he usually didn't. He mostly didn't care, though, just wanted to keep sleeping. He needed to keep his eyes screwed tightly shut, for as long as possible. Needed to burrow back into whoever's bed he was in, needed to drift back into the nothingness. He needed whoever was shouting his name to put a lid on it. Something shifted beneath him, creaked, almost. He slowly cracked open one eye, and then the other, and was surprised to find himself huddled in a pile of snow. A shadow fell over his face. He looked up into it, barely able to make out the sun shining somewhere behind whoever was in his face.

'Jim!'

It took him a moment to put his thoughts together.

'H…B'ns?' He said, voice hoarse and hardly there. He searched his friends face as best he could, though clearly his brain was operating on whatever sliver of life was left in him.

'Come on, Jim, get up. We gotta go.'

'How'd y'… Y'wern' here…'

'We don't have time for this, Jim. Come on. Get up.'  
_  
"We don't have time for this?" "Come on, get up?"_ Jim was furious. The urge to slam his fist into McCoy's gut surged through him, supplying him with enough energy to shoot up onto his knees, and then lumber to his feet. His knees buckled and then caught him.

Once up, he seemed to instantly forget his rage; instead turning his attention to his arms. 'Hey! My 'rms'r r'lly—'

'Come on, let's get going!'

They walked for a short while, though he did more falling than walking, and with every step things made less and less sense. Why was it so cold? Where was he? The last thing he remembered was stalling his stepfather's corvette. Wait, no, that happened years ago… He had been with a girl, her name was…S-something.

'You were right, Jim. If we would of gone just a little further… It's right up here.'

Bones? His eyes shot open in shock.

'Wait!' Jim cried.

McCoy turned, his trademark eyebrow quirked.

'Where's… Sanra…Sandra…Sanna… An what're you…' He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his knees buckle again. 'Z'it hot in here? I am r'lly—'

'Jim! We have to go. Now. Now get up. That's an order.'

'Nn.' Through his lashes, he saw McCoy glance around hurriedly. 'C'nt. 'M done.'

'…So that's it? You're just gunna give up? _You son of a bitch_. You drag me all the way out here, and you just—Jim, sometimes you really piss me off, you know that?'

'Go away.'

Silence followed, and for once, Jim was glad.

'You know,' McCoy eventually murmured, 'I dunno what Pike ever saw in you, Jim. You were a drunk and a lowlife before you joined Starfleet, and now you're just a lazy coward. Can't even stand a little cold.'

Jim squinted up at him from his spot in the snow, trying to make sense of what was being said. 'Whuh?'

'Y'heard me. I only ever hung out with you because I felt sorry for you. Heck, if it wasn't for me, you'd probably'a been kicked outta Starfleet ages ago.'

His head jolted up. 'Th's not true!'

'You just keep telling yourself that, Jim.'

All was quiet, then, aside from the wind whistling around them. Jim shut his eyes, or maybe he hadn't, he couldn't tell. He could feel his mind shutting down again. He had to've already been dead. He figured maybe Bones had left again, either too pissed to want to die together, or to crazily look for a shuttlecraft or something. The man was obviously delusional, Jim decided. What would a shuttlecraft be doing waiting for them out in the middle of the ocean?

'Your father might've only been Captain for a few minutes, but he saved 800 lives. What did you ever do? Sit on your ass all day with that stupid smirk on your face, orderin' everybody around like you deserved to be Captain.'

'Shut up.' When he looked up again, McCoy was angrily frowning at him.

'Why doncha come make me?' He taunted.

'I… am g'nna shove my foot... so f'r up yer—'

'—Do it! I dare ya!'

Jim shook himself and coaxed his legs into working. He stepped forward, arm raised to about his waist.

'C'mere!'

McCoy took a step back, taunting and teasing him, pissing him off more and more. The intense urge to break every bone in his face was what kept Jim hobbling, and then crawling, after that lanky asshole of a friend. Jim gasped and breathed something indiscernible, kneading the snow between his knees. So what if McCoy was a dick, and so what if he couldn't fight him. At least he'd die out here, too.

'Can you get a signal?' McCoy suddenly asked.

Jim caught himself staring up into those piercing blue eyes and all but snarled: 'Wh…th' hell….'

'Jim, you gotta listen to me, I said all those things for your own good. You wouldn't budge!'

'I hate you. S-so m'ch.'

McCoy smirked sadly. 'No ya don't. Now take your coat off,' He instructed.

Jim clumsily obeyed without question, his chest heaving. He was surprised to find it wasn't much colder without his coat. He unzipped it the best he could with his hands, which were practically worthless as it was, and then shrugged the rest off his shoulders. He sat in the snow, it clinging around his waist by the lower half of the zipper that he had not been able to undo.

'Now try your comm. Badge,' McCoy said hurriedly, glancing up into the sky as if maybe he could see the star ship from where he stood.

Jim stared blankly, his eyelids just barely hovering above his eyes.

McCoy knelt down in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, staring into his unresponsive face. 'Jim.' Foggy, glassy eyes slowly met his.  
_  
"…Prise to… Come in_—_irk."  
_  
Curiously, Jim's head dropped into his chest, and tilted toward the badge pinned to his uniform. He regarded it quietly, as if maybe he were only hearing things.

'Boost the signal,' McCoy quietly begged.

_"Enterprise to Captain Kirk. Captain, do you read?"_

'You gunna answer them?' McCoy asked cattily. 'Or you wanna stick around for a while; build a snow man, maybe?'

Ignoring McCoy's sarcasm, Jim dropped his chin and activated the combadge. 'K'rk… here. Cap'n K'rk. Two…t'beam…' Before he could finish, he saw the shimmering lights engulf him. Then, for a second time, his world went dark.


End file.
